


She's so very I don't care

by ninhursag



Series: Bikini Kill [2]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Aftermath, Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Always a girl Leonard Snart, Emotional Baggage, F/F, F/M, Genderswap, Leonard Snart Has Issues, Leonard Snart is Bad at Feelings, Mick Rory Has Feelings, Protective Sara Lance, Sara Lance knows what she is doing, Scars, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-15 09:27:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18496111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninhursag/pseuds/ninhursag
Summary: I believe in the radical possibilities of pleasure babe. I do. I do. I do.Sara takes her time with Leora Snart. Mick watches and has feelings. All kinds.Loosely related to Suck My Left One since it's the same timeline but you don't need to have read it.Just a dirty story, with feelings.





	She's so very I don't care

Mick died and went to heaven and there were lesbians in it. Only rational explanation for how he got here.

Sure he'd fucked around with Snart before. Whenever she said, however she said, almost always in a post job adrenaline fog. 

Alleys with her half climbing him, back against the bricks, thighs slick with sweat. On the back of her bike pulled off the highway with her long, long legs wrapped around him, so close he could almost feel her breasts under her coat and shirts. 

One memorable night in a swanky hotel penthouse when she wore only a black silk blouse, fabric opaque and strong but thin, while the necklace they'd lifted hung around her bare throat. He kissed the sapphire and diamond and his lips touched skin.

He never got to take his time. It never occurred to him he could ask to take his time if it wasn't offered. You didn't do that with Cold.

Sara Lance was taking her time. He could see the sweat on Leora's skin, on her neck, on her close cropped hair, down the bare line of her back while Lance licked her way down the curve of it, to the curl of ass cheeks.

The moan and clench of her lips, of her thighs. The thighs that wrapped around Sara's thin young body when she got the leverage to flip them.

No one got to see this much skin, other than maybe Snart’s tattooist, unless there were cops, guns and strip searches involved.

Not even him. He'd learned her body in parts and pieces. A slide of naked hip and bare ass against his hands when they were fucking, a curl of her ankle when she stepped out of her boots. A collarbone. A wrist, scarred forever with ancient lines of damage.

Her clothes, all the layers of them, all of them, were piled and neatly folded on the chair next to the bed now. The chair he was sitting on.

Sara Lance had her naked and spread out on the bed where she could be seen. All lean and long, skin over whipcord muscle and bone. Just hints of softness in her breasts and belly, the curve of her hips. 

A map of her skin, the dragon tattoo, the constellation of Aquila the eagle, script in Hebrew letters dancing down her spine and around, marching across her back and under her naked breasts. 

A map of old pain when you saw that the eagle was drawn around cigarette burns, that some of the art was not ink, but a brand seared into skin. Brands. 

Knives. The destroyed mess of one of her nipples, like someone had once tried to hack it off.

Bullet holes that got infected and wheals from belt buckles that never got the space to heal over clean. Raised lines from what looked like a cane. And Mick remembered the blood and the screaming that had come with that one, the gunshots after, the fire he'd burned to cover it up, but not the twisted skin it had left behind.

Sara had her own marks and wounds, but she never made a mystery of them, Mick didn't have the need to lean in, to see to touch. She owned them, they didn't own her.

Right now, Leora didn't seem to be sure if they owned her. She was shaking, her beautiful hands curling and uncurling on the pillow above her head like they'd been tied there while blonde hair brushed up and down her skin.

Sara's tongue looked wet and her mouth soft, while it traced the path of a tattoo and the scars underneath, and her hands touched everywhere. Carefully, almost reverently, like he wanted to touch.

He didn't, just shifted in his seat. Must have made a noise, because Sara looked up from her task of melting through Cold's defenses and smiled at him.

“You can touch yourself if you want, Mick,” she said casually. It was the first thing any of them had said out loud since this thing had started. 

Leo looked over at him too, those blue, blue eyes blinking slowly like she was surprised he was still there.

Like she hadn't put him in this chair herself before they began, and told him, “sit. You can watch,” while she stripped out of her clothes, layer by layer, and folded each item before dropping it on his lap. 

There had been no expression on her face then. 

Her clever, always steady hands shook while she undressed. Hard enough to make her curse. Hard enough he almost called it off, like he was the one who had the power to do that. That Blondie had opened her mouth like she was going to do the calling off.

But then Leora smiled around the edges of her mouth. That old familiar smile, the one that meant ‘challenge accepted’.

She smiled like that now and nodded, “Yeah. You can touch yourself. Mick. Or you can wait. Up to you.”

He swallowed hard and shifted on the chair. His fingers were making a mess of her nicely folded clothes. He waited.

Sara shrugged, and he could see the muscle under skin, under the softness of her curves. Then she went back to Snart- Leora-- Leo.

Leo's hands tightened on her back, square, clipped nails digging into skin.

Sara's blonde head drifted down, messy hair covering what she was doing when she buried her face in Leo's lap. 

Her mouth was spit shiny when she came up for air, fingers doing the fucking now instead of tongue. Leo made warm little sounds, urging her on with rolls of her hips, the grip of her hands.

Two fingers, three fingers, wet sounds as they slipped in and out of Leo's cunt. Rougher, four fingers. A moan, bitten off.

Sara's mouth back down again, licking while she moved that hand. Hair veiling things again.

And the look on Leo's face. That moment of surprise, that was so familiar, everytime, when she came. Surprise when that brain, those thoughts, finally stopped. Pleasure, the body taking out the brain.

Not for long but it happened.

She shook in the aftermath, shivers tearing through her body, eyes squeezed shut and Sara held her hard, arms wrapped around her. 

He could see the second she came back online, Cold there again, the twist of smile while she slithered out of Sara's grasp. 

“Thank you,” she said, calm and naked, like she did this all the time.

Sara smiled back and kissed her on the mouth. “You're very welcome.” 

Mick wasn't sure what to do with himself right then, but Sara seemed to know because she got up easily and pulled him up to his feet, scattering Leo's clothes on the floor.

Then she gave him a good hard shove, hard enough to move him off his feet and he went sprawling onto the bed, his boots still on. He grinned.

Leo laughed and kissed him, hard, with teeth in it. Long bare legs wrap around his waist, heels digging into the fabric of his pants and she whispered, “come on and fuck me.”

And he said, “I love you, boss.” Which is not exactly what he meant to say, but true, so he shrugged and owned it.

And the look, the look in those eyes. Wide and surprised, shaken. 

“Yeah,” she said trembling while his hands carefully, carefully moved over all of that naked, ruined, perfect skin. “Yeah. I can do that too.”


End file.
